Here You Are
by Mikael-Macbeth
Summary: XXX ONESHOT drabble, takes place between Xenosaga I and II XXX After fourteen years of silence over the link, Albedo and Rubedo talk to each other like it had never been severed.


_Disclaimer: I don't own Xenosaga or any of its characters._

**Author's Note: Wow, it's been a while since I've made a visit to this good ole site--sorry... D: But I have perfectly good excuses: school work, essays, applying for scholarships, yadda yadda, and all that happy crappy. So I've finally gotten some down-time, and when I got around to viewing my writing-folders, I found THIS little gem stowed away and decided to do a little posting! And I do so love Albedo and Rubedo. 3**

**This takes place between the first and second games and doesn't have any major spoilers; it's just a drabble, so enjoy!**

**So, without further ado...**

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* * *

****Here You Are**

**By K. L. Vest**

_So, here you are_.

The contact is sudden, unexpected, but Rubedo (though, as of now, he disapproves of that name, but as he is in the presence of _him_, he'll be called nothing else) doesn't shut the door on his consciousness. He's convinced it's a dream—that it's simply something within the back of his mind, and so he feels no fear in allowing his thoughts to be opened.

_Yeah. Here I am_.

Fourteen years—fourteen years of a silence within the link, and all at once, it's like it had never been severed. Fourteen years, and it's like the two had never been apart. Fourteen years… and, at long last, his voice is no longer a sound that he is forced to conjure up from the rusted banks of his memories.

Albedo (the only name he has ever gone by) sits in space, his ship a small pinprick compared to the vast, unwavering gaps of space before him. It makes him feel incredibly small—so intolerably _insignificant_—but Albedo somehow manages to convince himself that the emptiness is nothing compared to his capabilities. After all, nothing is simply that: nothing. For what it is worth, the _somethings_ in the universe create quite a much smaller portion of all that encompass that space, and, compared to all those _somethings_, Albedo finds himself to be quite a bit more impressive.

_So. What the Hell do you want?_

Rubedo, however, is much less pleased—his fourteen years were devoted to _forgetting_ that voice rather than clinging to it, and hearing it again wasn't something he wanted at the moment. He wanted to sleep—to drift off and fall into the abyss of his own eyelids. However, here he is, forced to entertain his mind-guest, though begrudgingly. The dream has turned into a nightmare, and he knows that there's no way to escape it.

Albedo rests his back against the seat, his hands sliding over the cool metal of the controls.

_Is it so wrong to wish to speak to my dearest brother? After all, it _is_ your job to take care of the younger brother, as you _are_ the elder._

_Elder by a few minutes_.

Not feeling up to playing word games with his other half, Rubedo rolls over in his bed located (theoretically) safe inside the Durandal within the Kukai Foundation, as though it would immediately give his brother the signal that he needn't bother toying with him.

However, it only spurs Albedo on, causing a smirk to play on his lips. He's always up to a cat and mouse game with his little Rubedo—and he's _always_ the cat. He lifts up a single, clawed finger—his index, in fact—and rests it against his cheek; though the nail digs into his skin, it doesn't make a considerable mark on his features… yet.

_And what has you all riled up? Is it that _ma belle peche_ is not giving you what you want?_

Of course, the white-haired sibling knows that this would get a rise out of his twin—which is exactly what happens.

_Don't talk about MOMO_!

_Oh, you were always so _selfish_, Rubedo—only thinking about yourself—when others needed you_. _I guess you haven't changed at all—people like you don't change._

If Rubedo hadn't been half-asleep then, this would have caused him to break out into an all-out mental fist fight, but for the moment, he's feeling too tired to even come up with a decent comeback.

_Yeah… maybe you're right_.

The response is less than what Albedo wants, causing him to dig his nail deeper into his cheek. For a moment he bleeds, the blessed water running down his jaw-line. For a moment, he tastes the sweet sensation of pain, and he remembers what it was like when he was a boy: the scrapes he would get, the cuts he would receive, the bruises he would suffer. All—instantaneously—gone before his eyes.

However, the memories are subdued as he removes his claw-like nail, the flow of the liquid immediately stopping up. The wound immediately is gone, as though it had never even been there in the first place, and in its place grows back unfettered skin.

There's something wrong with you, Rubedo. Was our last encounter less than pleasing for you? Certainly my performance on the Proto Merkabah was up to par.

Again, Rubedo rolls over. His eyebrows knit, though subconsciously, and Albedo can sense his other's discomfort. His other heartbeat is apparent in his chest—rapid, pulsing—and he likens it to the rampant stomping of horses' hoof-beats against an expansive Western wasteland. Rubedo senses this thought, and enjoys the metaphor for what it's worth.

_Of course it was. You're you, after all. And I'm sure that the next time we meet, you'll have something else planned_.

_Oh? So you _know_ we're bound to meet again, my dearest Rubedo?_

There comes a pause—a hindrance in cognition—and then:

_Without a doubt_.

Rubedo, still trying to tell himself that this is all a dream, doesn't notice that Albedo seems amused at this thought. Only Rubedo would pass off a conversation with his brother as imaginary, Albedo thinks, but Rubedo doesn't notice this thought.

The white-haired brother, knowing he is in no danger of his thoughts being probed, stares out into the blackness and simply… _thinks_. His eyes scan all the twinkling stars, some bright and shining in their newness, comparable to staring into the eyes of one you adore, and some fading into obscurity, their ancient masses having seen many eons of which the small, insect-like humans could only dare to dream. He sees the swirling nebulae, their particles expanding against the darkness, and the faraway, distant galaxies containing mysteries once thought to be untouchable.

But really, his eyes are passing over these things without the slightest bit of interest.

Really, his eyes are locked on the horizon—the sheer expanse—of space, in one direction and one direction only:

Rubedo's.

Yes, he knows he's there—his eyes are simply too inferior for him to catch sight of what is too far away.

What are you thinking?

Rubedo has seemed to pick up on Albedo's irregular thought patterns, and once more Albedo places a protective covering over his thoughts—his emotions.

Only plotting. It's all I'm capable of, is it not?

A pause.

_…Yeah._

_Well, I don't wish to keep you from your dreams, and so I shall bid you farewell_.

Rubedo feels his mind slipping—a piece of him being dropped away from him—and the withdrawal is painful. It's as though a section of him is being forcefully torn away—as though Albedo is ripping out his very core—and nothing could heal the wound.

…Though, he doubts that, at this point, either of them deserve any kind of healing.

In a way, it's both their faults.

Before Albedo cuts himself off completely, he hears this thought, and for a few seconds, it brings him comfort. However, it's immediately banished to the back of his mind. He has a goal, after all—a mission—and he can't let himself be caught up in nostalgia. Even this little rendezvous was probably a mistake, but it's too late to change what has already been done.

Silently:

_Goodnight, Rubedo_.

A pause.

Rubedo is drifting off to sleep, and Albedo is drifting off into the dark. Some might say that these two places are one in the same—that falling asleep and visiting the darkness are two acts that are, in fact, no different.

Sadly, this theory does not apply to this set of twins, whose lives have now diverged beyond the point of ever being able to converge again.

The pause continues.

Then:

_Goodnight, Albedo._

And into sleep falls the red-headed twin, unable to be swayed that that was anything other than a dream; and into the vastness of space falls the white-haired twin, whose shield is only up to prevent the memories of a time long past from flooding out.


End file.
